


Journey Through Darkness

by Serriya (Keolah)



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Curses, Drama, Elves, F/M, Flirting, Original Universe, Stranded, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1995-01-01
Updated: 1995-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Serriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keolah and her friends are stranded in a distant land. Their journey home again reveals many secrets thought long lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start of a Quest

It was July 15 of the year 4324. Three days ago was Keolah Kedaire's fifteenth birthday. She sat in the central courtyard of Scalifyn, the Castle of Hannaderres. At the south end of the courtyard stood the Throne of the Hands, looming over the castle as if protecting it. In the exact center of the courtyard stood the young cherry sapling, embracing the bright sunlight like a child would her mother. Why was Keolah sitting there? She thought perhaps that something interesting would happen. Who knows? Only the stars can know the future, and they prefer to tell only the past.

For something interesting, she didn't have long to wait. Hawthorne came and sat next to Keolah on the Star Fountain. Lariole Hawthorne Chelseer seemed to have a lot on her mind, but waited for Keolah to ask her about it before speaking.

"Well, Keolah, I am not sure exactly what seems amiss. It's just that something does." Hawthorne said, "The blue star Shazmar is gone from the skies as if the Darkness has engulfed it. And that's another thing, Keolah. I don't think we have seen the last of the Dark Knight. It seems as though he just disappeared, vanished into thin air. As much as Kalor would like to believe he is truly gone forever, I cannot. It's just a feeling right now, but a strong feeling."

She stopped suddenly and looked down. There was a pause. "I hear you, Hawthorne," Keolah responded, as if uncomfortable with silence, "but what proof do we have? Any evidence points explicitly the other way."

"I know, and that's the problem." Hawthorne sighed, "but if it takes proof, let's find some. We need to find out what happened to the Dark Knight! There is really no evidence in either way, so let us either prove him gone or disprove him gone, but let us do something! I cannot sit around here any longer in the lap of luxury! I am the heir of Telkarnith Chelseer. I really should tell you about him. Maybe later. But one thing is certain: We must find the Dark Knight!"

Though Keolah did not really believe her, she understood what Hawthorne meant. Though there was no evidence that he was still around, there was also no evidence that he was gone, either.

It was like that first adventure: Just Hawthorne and Keolah, unsure of where they were going, but knowing that they just had to keep going. That night, they left, riding their faithful horses Lyndar and Zendellor. They set out for the Doralis and the Falls of Gildaleer. They were heading for the city called Cascade Circle.

Zendellor ran slowly enough for poor Lyndar to keep up, but the dapple-grey mare still lagged. Zendellor was the swiftest of all horses on Lezaria. Still, they had only reached Lester by the time dawn broke.

The streets of dirt in Lester were hard and cracked with dryness. In the early morning sunlight, an old woman was hanging out some garments to dry. A warm summer breeze trickled through the town and between the wooden buildings. Some waking children laughed and giggled as they flooded the streets. The general store was immediately recognizable by the protruding sign stating that this was the general store. This was where the girls stopped first, but only to pick up some food and cloaks. This was because their old cloaks were full of holes, and they didn't want to wear the grand garments of Castle Scalifyn, as they would look unmistakably royal.

From the general store, the girls continued down the street in the center of Lester. They hadn't noticed it before, but the streets in Lester had no individual names. Nevertheless, Delven's home was instantaneously obvious. His was the only one with a life-sized roc in his front yard. Well, a wooden one, anyway. There was a smaller falcon, like one of the spybirds, perched upon of large one's shoulder. They thought it was part of the figure until it moved its head to stare at them. Then it because apparent that this was in fact a spybird. Zendellor bared his teeth at the still spybird until Delven himself came out of the house and came to them. He said hello several times and smiled much. His hair looked like a puffball.

"I see you've met my pet falcon, Delyu," he smiled, indicating the spybird on the wood-carving.

"Delyu?" asked Keolah incredulously.

"Yes. His name is Delyu. It's Elvish for 'surpasses-the-sky.' Do you like it?" Delven attempted to explain.

Keolah decided not to argue the point that 'surpasses-the-sky' in Zarhian would be Dels-se-hew instead of Delyu. When it came to humans and Elvish, the Kalorians usually put names together any way that they thought sounded best. It had gotten to the point that the elves living in Kalor also did that. Delyu sounded like the perfect name for spybirds to Keolah.

"Sounds fine," said Keolah, "But what in the Abyss happened to your hair?"

"I got a new hairdo. Like it?"

"That's not a hairdo," stated Hawthorne wryly. "That's a hair don't."

They spent an hour or so in Lester. Delven expressed true desire to journey with Keolah and Hawthorne to Cascade Circle. After a brief argument, they agreed to that. At noon, Delven with his shaggy brown pony Keerra, the spybird Delyu, and the girls with their magnificent steeds were all packed and ready to go on the trail to Doralis. "To Doralis!" they cried as they raced through the village of Lester and across the fords of the same name. Many people in Lester and the surrounding farms took a moment to watch them go, and wave to them, as if to wish them well on their journey. Perhaps some knew that those children would not return to Lester for a very long time indeed.

There was one girl with flaming red hair on a silver horse staring after them. She then spoke, "May the stars protect thee, Keolah, for thou shalt need them on this journey, as thou hast in times past. But worry not, my friend: I shall be following thee from a discreet distance. Worry not, Keolah daughter of Kaymore, for I shall be there for thee. Worry not, Lariole daughter of Kiorden, for thy faults shall indeed help thee. Worry not, Delven Tale-Weaver, for thy tales shall become useful."

It took them only three hours to reach the Falls of Gildaleer. Keolah was wondering why Lyndar continued to walk up to the edge of the swift river Telfold. When she found out that it was to get a drink of water, she fell headlong into the refreshingly chilly water. Keolah merely laughed aloud in the shallow edge of the river as she playfully splashed water onto her steed Lyndar. Hawthorne and Delven would have laughed and joined in except that a man swinging on a vine suddenly swung their way. The man looked to be in his twenties, and he appeared lithe and energetic as he could be. It showed in the way that he released the vine, did a somersault in midair, and landed gracefully before them. Hawthorne and Keolah instantly recognized him as Jerel Caithnor. They also noticed that he had grown a mustache.

"Greetings to you, friends. Oh, gorgeous Lady Hawthorne," announced Jerel as he bowed to Lariole. "Allow me a moment to bask in your stunning radiance, Lady Hawthorne."

"Oh, come now, Jerel," said Hawthorne as she turned a slightly brighter shade of red. She said modestly, "I'm not that pretty."

"Oh, Lady Hawthorne, with eyes that dazzle like stars! Oh, Lady Hawthorne, as delicate as rose petals! Oh, Lady Hawthorne, with the golden glory of Jazma! Oh, Lady Hawthorne, with hair as black and silky as rich velvet! Oh, Lady Hawthorne, with the eyes as green and gold as Seyletar! Oh, Lady Hawthorne, child of the green Rascalanse! Oh, Lady Hawthorne, with the steed swifter than the wind! Oh, Lady Hawthorne, heir of mighty Telkarnith Chelseer! Oh, Lady Hawthorne, do you possess the blood of the great Chelseers of old?"

"Actually, I do," stated Hawthorne as she turned an even brighter shade of red.

"Oh, Jerel, will you please court her at another time, if you don't mind?" That was from Keolah, who had finally climbed out of the river in annoyance at Jerel. "Besides, she's at least ten years younger than you."

Jerel got off his knee and gave a slight bow to Keolah in apology. "Of course, Lady Keolah. But really, I only turned twenty in April."

Keolah gave her head an almost entirely imperceptible shake. Perhaps it is only Doralisian customs, she thought as if to comfort herself. I hope . . .

"That's too bad, really," said Delven in regard to Jerel's statement of his age. "I wasn't born until the first of October, Kalor 4306." They then told Jerel of their journey for the Dark Knight.

"Why would you give it such a name like 'Journey for the Dark Knight'? I always said that a tale should have a good name, especially if it is true. 'Quest for the Rings' is a good example, though you translated it to 'Gill de se Linki.' I think you should call this one 'Journey Through Darkness,'" suggested Jerel.

"Let's see how it turns out, first," Keolah replied, "and hope we don't remain in the dark through it."

"Well, Delven isn't the only tale-weaver around here," said Hawthorne, "but he only tells tales, as we create them."

"So true, Lady Hawthorne." That was Jerel, of course.

Delven muttered something under his breath. There was an uncomfortable pause. Keolah started wringing out her cloak because it was soaked.

"So, do you guys wish to stay here in Cascade Circle for a while?" asked Jerel.

"For now, certainly," answered Keolah.

"I have things to do right now," explained Jerel, "but I will have one of my people show you to the pebron you will be staying in while you are here. We have several new pebrons that my people built recently, and not many of them have yet been filled, so yours will be as comfortable as any other. We believe in equality here in Cascade Circle." He called to a nearby tree, "Billy! If it is not any inconvenience to you, would you mind showing our guests to their pebron, please?"

"No problem, Jerel," answered someone called Billy as a tree-branch overhead suddenly rustled violently. When the figure jumped awkwardly down, they recognized him as well. He was the man with a goatee that Keolah and Khanis had seen during their last visit here. Surprisingly, Jerel called him Billy as well.

Jerel winked at Hawthorne and took a stunning leap into the trees. The man called Billy bowed to them and introduced himself. "My name is Billy Goat Kimmis. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, friends."

"Kimmis?" Keolah asked, "Does it have one 'M' in it or two?"

"Two, I believe," said Billy with an odd crooked smile. "Why do you ask, Keolah?"

"Well, I've seen the name spelled both ways," Keolah endeavored to explain. "When it comes to family names beginning with 'Kim,' you name it, there's one who claims it. For example, there's Kimis, Kimiro, Kimala, Kimson, Kimchild, Kimdaughter, Kimison, Kimisdaughter, Kimsonis, Kimiroson, not to mention double M's for all of them."

"I was unaware that you were interested in genealogy, Keolah," commented Hawthorne, starting to begin to become mildly irritated.

"I wasn't." remarked Keolah, "I am just interested in those Kim-names."

"Why?" Hawthorne retorted. At this Keolah managed no more than a simple shrug. "Keolah, you never really told me exactly what your interests are, you hypocritical umpteenth cousin of mine! I know you like painting and riding horses, but we do those things every day. I know you speak Zarhian Elvish with extreme fluency and have vast knowledge of its taboos, secrets, language traps, dialects, and obscure expressions and phases. By the way, I think you ought to inform me of some of those one day."

"I think I will one day, but not today," said Keolah. "In truth, I like all those things you mentioned, but I like Zarhian most of all."

"Perhaps, but why Zarhian? I mean," explained Hawthorne, "I speak most of the languages of Kalor with all the fluency as their natives, including the difficult Hlayan language, but I do not get so involved in them as to do any more than speak them. I don't love Hlayan any more than I love Kalorese."

"True, but the reason for the fascination is its history," Keolah responded with a sense of an attempt to protect her beloved language.

"Why?"

"Zarhian has roots in practically every language presently known, and then some." Keolah spoke with an exasperated sigh. "It even has some words derived from Hlayan. For example, the Zarhian word 'rule' came from the Hlayan word 'ruol.' But I especially like the language of ancient Zarhanna. The language is untainted by Kalorian languages, but perhaps that makes it less interesting. Both Zarhian and Zephylian were once one language, the long-dead Tinean language. Besides, there are legendary magic books written in Zarhian, Zephylian, Tinean, but not Hlayan."

"So why the fascination?" asked Hawthorne persistently.

"I'd like to find those magic books someday," Keolah said quietly enough to make sure Billy couldn't hear. "The Tinean books. I've been studying Tinean, you know. So that when I find the books I'll be able to use them as they were meant to be used."

"Wait a minute, Seeker," Hawthorne raised up her hands as if in surrender. "What do you mean, 'when?' Don't you mean 'if?' "

"I will find those books, Lariole Chelseer," Keolah vowed. "And I will use them if it is the last thing I do."

Hawthorne then turned and walked stolidly over to Billy, who had wandered off a little to the west. "Where is our pebron?" she asked him.

"I'm surprised you picked that up, Hawthorne," replied Billy with a start.

"Pebron: noun. One: Home; place to live or stay. Two: Tree-tent," Hawthorne defined. "I speak Doralisian, too."

Billy shook his head in resignation and answered, "It's this way. Where is Delven?"

They glanced around. The tale-weaver was nowhere in sight. Suddenly the man appeared in front of them, hanging by his knees from a tree-limb. He was also laughing so hysterically that he nearly fell out of the tree.

Hawthorne made a short squeak and jumped back. In a moment, she had fully recovered. "That was most unexpected." The spybird Delyu was just sitting there upon Delven's branch. After a few minutes of just hanging around, Delven finally decided to plant his feet firmly on the ground.

Keolah walked up then, controlling herself as well as was possible. Hawthorne then said to Billy, "I think you had better take us to our pebron before Delven drives us crazy."

Billy rolled his eyes to the side and then to the other side. He then looked straight at them and nodded energetically. Without looking back, he turned and walked off. The others looked at each other for a moment before following him.

Billy took a rather deceptive path through the woods past the Telfold. Many pebrons dotted the trees. After several miles of seemingly random movement, Billy stopped abruptly. He then did four complete turns beneath one uninteresting-looking tree. After the four turns, a strong vine fell from a limb, hanging from it. Billy slithered awkwardly up the vine. Once up, Billy motioned to the others to follow.

Delven, who had already proven his ability in the trees, clambered up first. Keolah chose to climb second. Hawthorne, trying to muster the fearlessness of heights she had gained in the cherry-forests of Thalarey, scrambled up last.

* * *

They stayed in the city of Cascade Circle for only three days before they noticed something. It was midday, and they were relaxing by the Falls of Gildaleer. Hawthorne was poking about the falls when she first saw it. "Keolah! Delven!" she called. The other two ran up to her, asking what the problem was. Lariole pointed to a plant growing out from under some stones beside the majestic falls.

"Jazma," said Keolah. "How did that get here?"

"The plot thickens," muttered Delven. He bent down and smelled the flowers. He sighed a giggle and fell into the river. The girls pulled the unconscious Delven out.

"Are you sure this is Jazma?" asked Hawthorne.

"What else would it be? Only the Jazma has golden flowers in that particular arrangement. That type of leaf is found only on Zarhannan plants.

"Then explain Delven's reaction to it."

Keolah smelled the flowers, and reported nothing very unusual. Delven stirred and woke up. "That was some flower!" he cried.

"Delven, why did you jump into that river!" shouted Keolah.

"What? I didn't do it intentionally!"

"Of course you did! That is just a normal Jazma flower! It has no magical properties!"

"Yes it does! The Jazma is a magic plant! You'll never see one moreso!"

Hawthorne took a step back from the continuing conflict and delved out what she knew about the Jazma flower. Yes, it was a very magical plant. From her experience on Paradise Island she recalled that it made humans dreamy and elves irritated. That certainly explained Delven's and Keolah's reactions to it.

But no Jazma grew in Kalor anymore. Certainly someone could have planted it here, but for what purpose? Perhaps to attract the attention of the only elves in the area...

"Keolah! Delven! Get away from there! It's a trap!" shouted Hawthorne as she turned to run.

Neither one of them heard her, so intent they were on arguing. Hawthorne grabbed Keolah's arm and tried to pull her away, but the Kedaire merely shrugged her off.

 _And they call me stubborn_ , thought Hawthorne ruefully as she felt the mist-tendrils of the Power of Motion grasping her.


	2. Dawning and Sunset

Even as they argued about the Jazma flower, the mist began to surround them. None noticed until they were in the abandoned building. Then, still under the effects of the Jazma, Keolah and Delven started arguing again. Hawthorne finally got them to stop. She then strode out of the building into the empty street.

"Where are we?" she said to no one in particular. Keolah joined her, followed by Delven. The street looked deserted, as if it had been unused for many years, perhaps even centuries. The buildings were made entirely of metal and stone. Even after those long years, the stone buildings were still mostly standing strong, though a few were crumpling. The metal buildings were covered with rust from long years of disuse.

"I repeat: Where are we?"

From a building across the street there came a groaning sound, and a single figure emerged from the pile of rubble that covered its door. They all recognized the boy as Sedder.

"Sedder!" cried Keolah as she ran over to him, the Jazma flower momentarily forgotten. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question, Keolah," countered Sedder. "As soon as you tell me where 'here' is."

"That's what we were trying to figure out," replied Hawthorne.

"How did you get here? What happened after Thain took you?" wondered Keolah.

"Thain? That snake?" Sedder laughed. "He didn't hurt me. He took me back to Flyland. The Dark Knight was really mad, but my friend Silver suddenly appeared and rescued me. Something about owing me one."

"Silver?" asked Hawthorne. "You mean that guy you were with when you came to Wishingsdale back in 'twenty-one?"

"The same," confirmed Sedder.

"The main question right now is 'What are we going to do?' We don't know where we are and haven't the vaguest clue why," asserted Delven.

"Delven has a point," commented Keolah, mildly surprised that Delven was actually thinking. Perhaps it was some bizarre lingering effect of Jazma inhalation. "We need to do something. Any suggestions?"

"We could start by exploring the city." Hawthorne spoke, "There may be something here that could give a clue to where we are."

Keolah nodded. "Any others?"

"We should go down to the docks and see what ocean we are in," suggested Sedder.

"Docks? Ocean? How can you tell that we're near the ocean?" cried Delven.

"Can't you smell it?"

"I smell only dust and rust."

"Keolah, Hawthorne, can't you smell the ocean?" wondered Sedder.

The girls sniffed the air. "I don't smell anything," replied Keolah.

"Maybe, but maybe not," said Hawthorne. "But your noses may still be filled with Jazma."

"I think we should split up to do both things. Either could give clues to our location," suggested Sedder. "We could meet up again later at--say--that tall statue over there. You can see it from several blocks in all directions."

"I agree with Sedder," said Delven. "If he can tell what ocean--if any--we are near just by looking at it, its worth a try."

"I'll have to second that," spoke Hawthorne. "We should explore all possibilities."

"All right, then," confirmed Keolah. "I'm with Hawthorne."

"I'm with Sedder," added Delven unnecessarily.

"We should return at about sunset," said Sedder. "We wouldn't want to be out wandering after dark."

Darkness. Keolah tried to ignore the thought. She merely hid her sudden fear and nodded her acknowledgment to Sedder, wishing he would take charge of the entire group for her. Darkness. Was she now afraid? Of the dark?

She was subconsciously aware that Hawthorne was walking away toward one of the more intact buildings. Sedder and Delven were already heading down the road. "Well, are you coming or not?"

"Coming, Hawthorne," replied Keolah as she jogged toward the other. What had they gotten themselves into?

* * *

Sedder and Delven walked down from the place they had left the elf-girls toward the tall statue. They found that it was indeed nearly fifty feet tall, including the pedestal. It appeared to be made of marble, and portrayed a person who could have been either male or female, holding a pitchfork.

"Sedder," said Delven as he inspected the statue. "Do you suppose these people were demon cultists?"

"No, Delven, I think that's supposed to be a farmer."

Delven wasn't entirely convinced. "Whatever you say, Sedder."

The statue was in the centre of a small square or courtyard, from which ten streets branched off in all directions. Stone-carved signs proclaimed the street names in a script Sedder was unaware of, and certainly couldn't read.

"Delven, do you know this script?"

Delven approached the sign Sedder was examining and gazed pondering at the harsh carved script-writing. "It looks like a variant on Hlayan shorthand."

"Can you read it?"

"It says, 'Daltwistaybrinnith' and some other words that are lost."

"What does that mean?" wondered Sedder.

"Musical band. I think that may have been the name of this street."

"And what language might that be in?"

"I have a bad feeling about this," muttered Delven.

"The language, Delven."

"Albrynnian."

There was a long moment of stunned silence. "Albrynnian," Sedder whispered finally. "Which was never spoken or written outside of Albrynnia and some of the western Sunrise Islands, besides the greatly changed version that the Hlayans use."

"The language is the older version, also," added Delven. "Which suggests that this street which we now stand upon was given its name of Daltwistaybrinnith more than four thousand years ago."

Sedder gave a low whistle in response. "Startling numbers, and nearly totally meaningless. They would be meaningless indeed if I had never known Silver. What happened here, Delven? What made these people flee this place?"

"In all the stories I know, it never mentions precisely what happened to Albrynnia," Delven told him. "I think we now know what ocean we are near. Do you still want to go down to the docks?"

"Yes. I think there may be more useful information we could uncover there." Sedder lead the way down toward anything of the spoke-streets, asking Delven to translate its name.

"The Avenue of Motherland Harbor."

"Then this should be the right way," replied Sedder, beginning to walk down the street.

"Actually," said Delven suddenly, bringing the half-elf to a halt. "I think we should go that way."

"Why?" asked Sedder.

"It says, 'Avenue of Watchwater Island,' " answered Delven. "But for all we know, these names could have nothing to do with their location in the city's geography."

"Worth a try," shrugged Sedder, walking down the new street. Delven followed closely behind, taking in everything.

The avenue ran straight out toward the edge of the city--and Sedder's docks. There lay before them a vast stretching ocean, smelling freshly salty. A gray form lay somewhat out in the water, apparently an offshore island. A storage shed held some small craft, but still none were of wood. The rowboats were made entirely of some kind of lightweight metal.

"This place is an island of tree-lovers!" cried Delven.

"Well, all their wooden boats could be completely rotted by now. There's no way of knowing how this place looked at the height of its power."

Delven grunted and kicked the nearest rowboat. It gave a loud metallic clang that rang sharply out across the whispering ocean.

"This one over here looks like its in better condition than the rest. It will do," Sedder commented.

"You're not thinking of rowing out to that island, are you?" Delven asked skeptically.

"Yes, you're going to row me out to that island. It may provide further information on this city and its inhabitants."

"There's no way in the name of Khanrey you'll get me to row that bucket of bolts out to some fewkin offshore island!"

But Sedder was already dragging the little craft outside. "You get the other end, Delven. If this thing doesn't float, we'll know soon enough."

"I thought you said you were sure it would float," muttered Delven as he shoved the tiny boat hard, knocking Sedder to the ground.

"Careful with that thing, Delven, you could hurt someone."

"The only one to get hurt around here is you, Sedder. And the boat's name is Hyacinth."

By now they were nearly to the water. "Watch it shoving it in. We wouldn't want our craft floating away from us."

"Okay," murmured Delven as he alone got to the task. Sedder was distracted elsewhere.

"Look! A heledhar! I haven't seen one of those in years!"

Delven paused in his labor to see what Sedder what talking about. Indeed, there was an antiqued heledhar lute sitting in the window of the nearby music shop. Sedder didn't hesitate to walk in and take it. Delven followed and took a pipe-like instrument for himself. Both instruments were metal.

As Delven finally got the rowboat into the water, the men climbed about with their instruments. Sedder began strumming the heledhar, making that his excuse not to row. Delven stuck the pipe-thing in his mouth; Sedder had called it a videfry. The storyteller then took the oars in his hands and promptly began rowing out to the island. He made strange, slightly musical sounds in cadence to the rowing, which rather annoyed Sedder; but the half-elf took revenge in the fact that his heledhar equally annoyed Delven, even though the tale-weaver refused to admit it.

"Ah, I always love a floating concert!" cried Sedder.

Delven videfry made a sharp whistle in either agreement or protest. Considering Delven's acute dislike of the situation, Sedder was inclined to believe the latter.

"Can't you row any faster, Delven?" asked Sedder impatiently. Delven shot him a look of pure venom. "Come on, we don't have all day."

With that, Delven yanked one of the oars out of the water and swung it toward Sedder. The half-elf put up his arms to keep the metal oar from striking him in the face, but the force of the impact caused him to tumble out of the little boat. Delven practically spit the videfry out of his mouth.

"If you want to go to that island, you row!"

Sedder climbed back into the boat, his rich crimson cloak now soaked to the skin. He silently grabbed the oars and began rowing to Watchwater Island. Behind him, he could hear Delven playing "Victory at Sea" on his videfry. Sedder slipped off his boot and began playing "When the Red Leaf Falls" on the heledhar. He then began singing it.

"In autumn nearing winter's edge   
the last red leaf doth hang   
Lo-onely on barren branch   
sti-ill hanging on.

Alone the red leaf there doth hang   
until the wind doth shake the tree   
but re-ed leaf doth still hang on   
all through the windy night.

Upon the branch the red leaf hangs   
And snow doth fall upon the ground   
but still the re-ed leaf hangs on   
sti-ill hanging on.

And then one night when it was cold   
the re-ed leaf did loose its branch   
and drifted slowly to the ground   
The la-ast re-ed leeeeeeeaf!"

"Are you trying to depress me?" wondered Delven.

"No, never," said Sedder quietly but sarcastically.

Delven was momentarily insulted, but then decided to take the comment at face value. He grabbed the lute and started singing, "The Rowing Clown of Halladan."

"Oh, the rowing clown of Halladan   
he rowed and rowed and rowed   
by the slopes of Greenhorn Mountain   
to the shores of Twisted Lode   
Oh, the rowing clown of Halladan   
he rowed and rowed and rowed   
with his big pink bulbous nose!   
Then the rowing clown of Halladan   
just rowed and rowed and rowed   
with his painted face of flower eyes   
from the shores of Twisted Lode   
did row on back to Halladan   
for all he did despise!"

Then he shouted, "Phew! What is that awful stench?" Then he looked at Sedder and said, "Put your boot back on, Sedder! It reeks back here!"

Sedder merely snickered and continued rowing. Delven made no further protests, but proceeded to sing "The Ugly, Stinky Troll."

"Deep in the forest lived an ugly, stinky troll   
you could smell him wherever he went   
with his reeking of odors and hairy of arms--"

"Enough, Delven!" shouted Sedder finally.

"I was just getting started!"

"Well, now you're just ending. Now shut up before I make you row!"

Fortunately, they were just arriving at the island then. It was like a huge rock in the centre of the harbor mouth, jutting lonely into the water. Upon its highest peak was built a tall lighthouse that now stood dark. Beneath that tower stood a large, low building that was equally dark. Even though it had been long abandoned, Watchwater Island was still majestic.

Sedder steered the boat into the little port on the island and they disembarked. He stood for a long moment on the stone, gazing out westward, as if feeling another's presense somewhere across the water. Then he turned and strode toward the low metal building under the lighthouse.

The door was not locked, as he had expected. It was ajar, and nearly off its hinges. As he lifted it to enter, it gave out a loud screech in protest, then fell with a clang to the ground. Sedder shrugged and entered, Delven close behind. There were some old lanterns sitting on a table nearby. Finding some oil in a sealed cabinet, Sedder lit one of them and took it with him. As a precaution, Delven took another lit lamp.

The half-elf found a tunnel that lead down to an ancient dungeon. Ever one for adventures, Sedder immediately descended, dismissing Delven's warnings. After a long flight of stairs, they found themselves in a narrow corridor winding off left and right. Sedder took a brief look around and confidently took the righthand passage.

The tunnels wound around in a confused jumble of knots, looping over others, turning suddenly, branching off at unexpected places. Within minutes they were completely lost. Delven tried to draw a map; but Sedder, glancing at it to see what he was doing, told him to stop scribbling and watch out for monsters. Delven didn't bother giving his impression of the dungeon so far, since he knew it was already extremely clear.

A few odd creatures descended upon them. Delven shouted and swung his lantern at them. Afraid of the light, they retreated, even though an easy meal was there. Most other monsters then chose to watch from the shadows.

Suddenly, they came to a dead end. The storyteller gave a brief laugh and said that this wasn't entirely unexpected, but Sedder took the matter more seriously. Now curious, Sedder closely examined the blank wall before him. As he touched it, to his surprise, it pivoted silently from the centre, revealing a dark room beyond. Beckoning to Delven, he quietly entered.

As their lanterns lit up the hall, the tale-weaver gave a gasp of surprise. Directly before him stood a skeleton. Delven screamed and promptly ran to the nearest corner of the room. "That does it, Sedder! I'm getting out of here!" Though as he searched for another exit, Sedder stood calmly with his dagger drawn before the skeleton.

Then the skeleton spoke. "Foolish mortals who disturb my eternal peace, prepare to suffer!" The tale-weaver screamed and hid behind a pile of boxes. Sedder forced himself to remain calm as he bashed directly into the skeleton. The bones fell apart and skidded across the stone floor . . . only to come together and form the skeleton again!

"Fool to think the great Cazorast can be defeated so easily! Meet thy fate, weak child!"

Now, though Sedder was furious, he managed to remain calm somehow. Delven was picking through the rubbish to see if he could find something to throw at the skeleton, which was now approaching Sedder rapidly. The half-elf lunged at the skeleton, ripping its foreleg off and snapping it in two. Then he hacked the shards to dust with a rock he found handy. The skeleton somehow continued coming forward, hobbling on its remaining leg with a grace that defied its undead nature. Sedder, finding his dagger too short, grabbed a staff from the junkpile and swung it at Cazorast's skeleton. There was a sound of crunching vertebrae as the staff struck, and a thrill of power flashed briefly through Sedder.

The skeleton lay on the ground, lacking the spinal support needed to stand. It swung a threatening hand at Sedder, which didn't come close. Delven walked over with a great club and smashed the ancient skull. The bones fell apart, truly dead now. Sedder gave an involuntary shudder as another wave of power washed through him and seemed to settle in his bones as it once had in those of Cazorast.

"I told you this was not a good idea," uttered Delven as he dropped the lead club to the ground with a clunk.

"Well, let's see if we can find anything useful in that junkpile, at least." Sedder still had the staff in his hand. Now he turned to examine it. It was an unremarkable aspen staff. There appeared to be something at the up end of it, but the half-elf couldn't make it out in the dark. Shrugging, he decided to keep it. He refused to tell Delven about the strange feelings, knowing it would only make the tale-weaver bother him more. Then he picked up his torch from where he had dropped it.

"There's some items over here that could be of some use, but not many," Delven's voice echoed from across the hall. Sedder reluctantly went to look.

"That armour could be useful. Pack it up. Here, this gold cup looks valuable. It'll be safe in my pack. What's that, a sword? Bring it. There's some silver coins over there. Careful they don't bite you. Wouldn't want to burn a hole in your pocket. There, that helmet with the purple plume. It looks like the only one that isn't rusted. Some cloaks here still look good."

They gathered all the items that looked potentially useful or valuable and packed them up. Sedder found a bracelet with a strange-looking compass on it. Not knowing what it was for, he snapped it on his wrist and walked out the hidden door, Delven trailing.

When the came to the first intersection, Sedder, glancing at the watch-compass, suggested that they go right, while Delven agrued that they had entered from the left. Finally, the half-elf won him over, and they went right. They practically ran into the staircase there. The two eagerly ascended the stairs into welcome daylight again. Adjusting their heavy loads, they made for the boat and took turns rowing back.

* * *

Meanwhile, Keolah and Hawthorne were not having much better luck. In fact, they were having much worse. The first building they entered was a disaster. It was once a library, that much was clear. However, every time they tried to examine one of the books, it would crumble into a fine powder, not even allowing them a good look at the letters.

Finally, they found a book laying open on a table. Keolah, though, didn't want to go anywhere near the skeleton laying on the floor next to it. There was something about this building that she just couldn't place. . . .

Hawthorne, on the other hand, had no problem with the skeleton. She went over to the table and examined the book, trying not to even breathe on it. Keolah stood silent in the centre of the room.

"Keolah!" called Hawthorne quietly, "This is old Hlayan script! The language looks to be Islandic."

"Islandic?" wondered the other skeptically. "What does it say?"

"It's a little difficult to read in places, but most is still clear. New Date 12, the year of the dolphin, month of the crocus, day of third-rising, hour of two after zenith. As I, Tamally, write this, my body weakens from the poisonous fruit. Three small illegible words, probably I was a--fool to return here, which my parents and I fled when I was-- large blur. Ink stain here--come of age until the year of the seagull, month of harvest, day of fourth-falling, hour of three after dawn--another blur--I never will. Starving in a world where I was born but not raised, I went searching for food--smear--found a delicious-looking fruit. Deceptive--yet another blur. It's poison is deadly, and there is no cure. So here I lay dying--another smear--last warning to any who may read this: avoid the white-spotted red fruit!

"Blur--while I still have time, I will tell a little about myself. Huge smear here, looks like one of the words could be born--Shalsin Valley in the Sunrise Mountains. When I was three, my parents took--ink-spot--ship and we sailed away, never to see my one-time home again. I was taken to the Sunrise Islands and raised on--blur, looks like a name. I arrived in the year of the shark, month of planting, day of first-standing, hour of two until sunset.

"Wait! Now the pen begins to quaver--smear--hand. Illegible words--difficult to write. No! Wavering writing I can't read--die alone! Smear--this--bloodstain--accursed land." Hawthorne looked up. "It leaves off there."

"In which case let's avoid the white-spotted red fruit. What does the writer mean by the dates?"

"Oh, that year of the dolphin, month of the crocus crap? I have no idea. Your guess is as good as mine."

Keolah was too frightened to even giggle. There was something about this place that seemed evil . . . and if she told Hawthorne, the green-eyed girl was likely to search it out and challenge it! Lariole seemed oblivious to it, as well as Keolah's fear.

"Smear this bloodstain-accursed land," muttered Hawthorne. She then stood and walked over to the far wall. The elfling reached into the bookcase to grasp another volume when, in a sweep of books, Hawthorne was gone!

"Hawthorne?" called Keolah.

"I'm right here," spoke Lariole's voice. "Where'd you go, Keolah?"

"I haven't moved," protested the other, "Where'd you go?"

"I'm--hey, wait, look at this place!"

"I can't, I'm over here!" shouted Keolah in frustration.

"Oooh, Keolah, you gotta see this place!"

Keolah finally had enough and walked right over to the bookshelf where Hawthorne had disappeared and pushed. She found herself in another room, but Hawthorne was nowhere in sight.

"Hawthorne?" called Keolah, puzzled.

"Hey, how'd I get back here?"

Keolah began looking around the room. In many ways it was almost identical to the other one. However, in the centre of this room there was a huge model of a great city. There were tall buildings with domed roofs, great monuments and statues, arches spanning between the buildings over the miniature cobblestone streets.

"Wow, Hawthorne, look at this--"

Suddenly, in a swish of books, she found herself back in the other room.

"Where are you hiding, Keolah?"

"Hawthorne, will you stop that?"

Swish. Keolah was in the map room again. This time, she walked away from the bookshelf and now faced it. Sure enough, the bookshelf rotated again and Hawthorne stood in the map room.

"Oh, there you are!" cried Lariole. "Where have you been all this time?"

Keolah simply laughed and walked over to the model of the city. Hawthorne followed.

"This is probably the city we are in," observed Keolah.

"Where's the 'You are here' sign?"

"Doesn't have one, apparently."

"You mean we're in a city and we have no idea where we are?" exclaimed Hawthorne.

"No, here's the city library. Looks like it's labeled in two languages. Can you read them, Hawthorne?"

"No, but I think it's Albrynnian and Islandic. The name of that street we were on looks like 'Daltwistaybrinnith' or something like that."

"What in the name of the Abyss does that nonsense mean?"

"Beats me. Lets go on. We only have an hour or two till the sun sets."

The elflings walked down a side hallway in the library, passing through more rotating bookshelves and several smaller rooms. The place was simply packed with books! Soon, they came to a staircase made of bookshelves leading up to the next floor. When they reached it, they saw some sort of glowing cylinder in the centre of the room.

"Ooooh. What the Khanrey is that?" wondered Keolah.

"One way to find out," replied Hawthorne as the strode boldly toward it.

"Hawthorne!"

The girl entered the cylinder, and abruptly vanished.

"HAWTHORNE!"

Keolah raced toward the cylinder. Lariole was nowhere in sight.

"Hawthorne, where are you?" cried Keolah frantically.

Hawthorne's voice came from somewhere. "Right here, Keolah. Where'd you go?"

"Where'd you go?"

"Oooooh, Keolah, look at this place."

"Hawthorne, where in the Abyss are you?"

"Keolah, this is no time for games. Come out from that cylinder right now."

Keolah shrugged and walked into the cylinder. She felt sucked upward and was abruptly thrust out on the next level. Some kind of elevator or transporter, she assumed. She just hoped it was two way. When Keolah looked about the place, she saw a room defying the primitive library look. The entire room was circular, with four compass-point doors leading out. The golden cylinder was in the exact centre of the compass-like pattern on the floor, which pointed at each of the doors. Also, there were compass points for the north-northeast, northeast, east-northeast, and so on. These pointed at magic viewers that were doubtless linked to the power of Fawnd.

Keolah strode toward the imager in front of her, and saw the map room, currently devoid of people. Not daring to touch any of the buttons or dials, she moved on to the next one. This one showed the cylinder room directly below. As she looked up from the screen, she saw Hawthorne being unwise again. Lariole was fiddling with the buttons and sliders on a viewer across the room. Keolah approached to see the screen change to a pair of sword-fighters. Hawthorne paused to gaze at it, and the fighter on the right stood still while the left one ran it through. Hawthorne muttered, "I don't think that's how it's done."

"Hawthorne, this is no time for games," said Keolah in perfect imitation.

Now Hawthorne used the dials and sliders and the right swordsman parried and sliced through its opponant. "Not bad," said Hawthorne.

Keolah rolled her eyes at her friend's self-praise. "Don't break your precious sword-arm patting yourself on the back."

Lariole now strode over to the west door. "How does this work?" she wondered as she examined it. There was a luminescent blue button to the right of the door. Hawthorne pressed the button, and the door slid creaking open to the left. "Most interesting." The door revealed a hallway about as long as it was from the cylinder to the door.

"Where does that go?" wondered Keolah.

"Let's find out." Hawthorne entered the hall. Keolah sighed and reluctantly followed.

As they strode through the hall, Keolah heard a brief sprinkling of rain. Odd for this time of year, though the elfgirl. And oddly chilly as well. They reached the end of the corridor and the door slid open on its own. There stood the great city in a mist, and, thus hidden, one could almost believe it had never been abandoned. A tall statue thrust an upraised torch into the air, and the stone flames licked upon the true fire of the sun. The light upon the mist-shrouded city stretching to the east looked like silver flames, and Keolah took this to be an omen of some kind, though she knew not the meaning. Had Sedder been there, he would have understood it, though he would have said naught about it. Thus Keolah was left in the dark, where the Lights had tried to guide her. Then the sun's glare was stolen over the edge of the world, slain as though it were a sword's edge, and hope and understanding died with it.


	3. A Dangerous Place

Silver reached the harsh terrain of the Rockpeak Peninsula by morning of his second day on Albrynnia, which was also the companions' second. The land was rugged and mountainous, and infested by various forms of monsters, more or less deadly, but all dangerous. He knew the only way was to head north, for lack of any sea vessel.

Pondering his situation, Silver came upon a little vale sheltered in a few rocky hills and sheer cliffs. A tree bearing many colours of fruit invited him to eat of its bounty and rest in its shade. The elf cautiously descended into the vale, all seven of his senses aware and alert for danger--the other two senses were forms of telepathy and magic.

He inspected the area closely. Though none of the first five senses gave any hint of hostility in the immediate area, his seventh sense, magic, told him that it was not so. There was something very powerful about this vale...

Wary, he took another step into the valley. There came a rustling of leaves, as if of laughter or anticipation. The Wind-Rider froze, listening with all his senses. Then his curiosity took hold of him, and he plunged into the dale. A piece of red fruit lay not far from the tree. Red meant danger. It couldn't be a coincidence. Silver dropped to all fours just as an orange fruit flew over his head. A rock behind him exploded.

Now he knew he was in great danger here. A blackberry came toward him, and he jumped to the side just in time. The fruit splattered into the ground, the acidic juice dissolving anything it contacted. Cautiously, the elf started backing away from the tree. Before he could stop it, a blueberry landed smack on his nose. An electrical shock coursed through his body, but it only gave him more strength due to his talent of lightning.

Silver stood and ran to the edge of the vale. The dragonfruit tree threw a green fruit toward him, which sent out poisonous gases. The elf leaped over the edge of the valley, the slight ridge blocking the gas and the fruit. Then a red fruit came over the ridge and burst into flames. Since fire couldn't really hurt him, he didn't bother to panic.

A strong creature suddenly picked him up off the ground and galloped toward a ledge above the vale. Silver couldn't see his captor, so prepared to fight. Then he was turned around and sat down on the ledge. To his surprise, this was an ordinary man. No, wait. He had the legs of a horse. No, even more. It was a centaur!

His captor was human to the waist, and had the four legs of a horse. Curious, Silver examined him more closely. He wore no clothes, but one couldn't really put clothes on a horse anyway. His back part was a handsomely muscular chestnut stallion. His front part was a handsomely muscular human male. His mane, which flowed from his head down his back, was silky black. The centaur was a fine representative of his race, of whose existance Silver was previously unaware.

"Who are you?" asked Silver in Kalorese, for he didn't know what language the centaur spoke.

Whatever it was, wasn't Kalorese. The centaur said something in a language even Silver didn't know. The elf shook his head.

"I don't speak that language," he told the centaur in Hlayan.

"Magar," said the centaur, pointing at himself.

"Silver."

"Rockpeak?" he said, pointing to the mountains, then to his feet.

"Rockpeak?" It didn't sound like a pretty name. Magar shook his head. "I'm going north," explained Silver, pointing in that general direction.

Then Magar grumbled something completely unintelligible. Silver only understood three words of it: "Magar Silver Rockpeak."

"Man, I wish Thistle were here!" muttered Silver.

Then the centaur was making some of the most ridiculous gestures Silver had ever seen. Frustrated, the elf strode off in the general direction of Kalor, the centaur stubborning trailing.

As he traveled, he kept trying to contact Sedder, who was somewhere east of him. But there was only darkness there, and he touched the light near Sedder. Well, whatever he could get, he'd settle for it. He tried to ask them to come west, to come to him, but his contact failed again and again.

That night he and the centaur were forced to seek shelter in a deep cavern. Little did he know how much trouble that would cause.

During the night, Magar disappeared. When Silver woke, he discovered the centaur's absense and immediately went outside to look for him, even though he wasn't especially fond of him. Not seeing any sign of Magar, he went back inside and explored the tunnels behind the cave. When he reached a fork, he went left, though neither had enough dirt to show hoofprints.

The passages twisted around, though did not fork again. Silver had to use his fire magic to light the way. Then the tunnel suddenly opened up into a vast cavern, which contained a sleeping blue dragon. At the opposite side of the cave, Magar was trying to sneak down into the dragon's lair.

Silver cursed under his breath. The centaur was in imminant danger of discovery. One false step and--

"Hey, fizzlesnoot!" shouted Silver.

That got his attention. The blue dragon was immediately awake and mad at him. He realized that it was a good time to get moving.

First, he threw a few more insults. "Did you get caught out in a thunderstorm? Were you on the end of that guy's kite? Was your mother a lightbulb?"

Now the dragon was charging him. Silver turned and ran as fast as he could. Furious, the dragon breathed lightning at him, and struck him full-force. To the blue dragon's confusion, it didn't harm him in the least. He stretched its head forward--and ran smack into the cavern wall. His head and neck were stuck in the tunnel and couldn't get out; his legs and body were stuck in the cavern and couldn't get in.

The creature threatened to bring the entire mountain down on top of them. Silver reached the fork and went down the right tunnel. When he reached the cavern again, Magar was making his way out with a glittery object. The dragon had dislodged many layers of rocks, but his head was still stuck in the tunnel.

"Out!" shouted Silver, pointing to the tunnel. Magar nodded and galloped that way, followed by Silver sprinting.

"You realize how foolish that was," gasped Silver when they emerged.

Magar shouted the item he had stolen. It was a golden helmet. "Delarre," he said, and some words Silver didn't catch.

"Whatever," replied the elf. "Let's get going before that dragon gets it into his head to follow us."

He was talking more to himself than anyone else, however, since Magar couldn't understand a word he was saying. Therefore they set off toward Kalor once again.

Silver did not yet realize it, but he had not yet fully experienced the true danger of Rockpeak. The next day passed with only an attack by a band of goblins, who hastily retreated at Silver's display of power. Yet here the true dangers waited until darkness had settled the land to manifest themselves.

Unable to find a suitable cave, Silver and Magar were forced to spend that night outside, the worst place to be in Rockpeak. It was dark that night, neither Halladan the green moon nor Thondorron the silver moon daring to show, not even a single star shining. Silver was awakened in the night by a brush of cold against his skin. His seventh sense ringing alarm klaxons, he sat bolt upright and conjured light. This explosed a shadow being, yet the shade was unafraid of the light. It merely reasserted itself and tried to take Silver again.

"Who are you?" Silver demanded of the shade, leaping away. "What do you want?"

Abruptly, the shadow leaped at Silver and hit him full on before he knew what was happening. The elf flicked lightning, but the undead being was unaffected.

Silver was chilled to the core of his being, and he heard himself screaming. Then he was looking at his body as if from outside it. Muttering a curse, Silver tried to stand up. He suddenly realized that he was indeed outside his body, as if in a ghostlike state.

"Get out of my body, foul shade!" Silver cried.

His words only barely managed to shake the evil being. The shade looked through Silver's eyes now, glaring at the body's former occupant with pure evil. "I will not relinquish your body so easily, elf."

"Magar!" called Silver. "Help me!"

The centaur woke immediately and looked at Silver's possessed body. Annoyed, the shadow being tried to use Silver's lightning magic on the centaur, but failed. That gave the elf an idea.

In his ghostlike state, he tried to use his lightning on his own body. Silver sparks of power flashed from his spirit into his body, and he found himself back where he belonged. The shade finally gave up and went on to search for another victim.

Silver and Magar continued their perilous journey northward. Eventually, they came to a crude village of centaurs.

Silver then learned that Delarre was Magar's filly, or something, and the helmet was a gift. Therefore they parted company without either ever coming close to understanding the other. It was not necessary. The knowledge that there were others in the world was all.

Perhaps there is hope for us in the world after all, though Silver as he resumed his journey northward, for he was now out of the Rockpeak and on green hills. Perhaps the Darkness can be banished between the stars at last, who trap it between their brilliant light. Those are the souls of all good people who have ever lived in the world. Let their light shine on!


	4. Curses and Blessings (but mostly curses)

Hawthorne and Keolah arrived at the farmer statue's base just as Sedder and Delven came dragging their prizes up from the shore--slightly wetter than before. They had taken half a dozen more of the lanterns with them, since they were not getting much use down there, so they had light. There, they sorted through the spoils.

Keolah, from the first sight of that armor, was greatly attracted to it, and she soon became quite attached to it. "Oh, that is such a darling plate armor!" she breathed.

The others glared at the armor. It was quite obviously made for one of the female gender. Hawthorne raised an eyebrow. "What, you think I'm not going to claim that armor? I have special VIP status."

"Oh, come now, Hawthorne," countered Keolah. "Just look at it. It definitely wasn't made for you."

Lariole chose not to take insult at that comment, but claimed a black cloak. Delven stood and grabbed a lantern, saying, "I think I'll go find us some food." He took a strange crossbow-like weapon and bolts that were found with it and strode east away from the makeshift camp.

Hawthorne slipped the black cloak around her shoulders. Immediately, Hawthorne's image became unclear, and her exact location was indeterminate. "Hawthorne, stop playing with that thing and help me put this armor on."

The Chelseer girl removed the cloak and her image focused. She dropped the cloak and helped Keolah put on her armor--but not gracefully. Sedder just sat there, examining the staff and various other items. Finally, they got it on her.

"How do I look, Sedder?" she said, attempting clumsy postures that were supposedly erotic. Sedder gave her a look of mingled confusion, astonishment, amusement, and disinterest. How he managed to convey all that in one look the world never hopes to know.

Hawthorne gave her a once-over, then said, "Keolah," she shook her head, suppressing giggles. "I think you should stick to finding magic rings and saving the world from the forces of Darkness."

"Oh, get it off me," replied the other in frustration.

Hawthorne reached for the ties--and pulled her hand back quickly with a sudden yelp of shock. Sedder cocked his head, but otherwise didn't move from his position at the base of the statue, watching the girls with mild interest.

"What, Hawthorne?" sighed Keolah. The Chelseer was shaking her hand fiercely.

"It's cold! As if it were frozen on!" gasped Lariole.

The Ring-Finder rolled her eyes, then did some odd postures in an attempt to dislodge the mail from around her body, which were actually more erotic than those ones she had tried earlier. Sedder raised an eyebrow.

"Get this damned thing off me!" snarled the Kedaire girl.

Hawthorne risked her fingers again, but to no avail. Then she tried scissors, but the armor seemed to be frozen on her. She pulled a dagger out from her boot and tried to cut the mail off, but it only dulled the blade. Hawthorne cursed and slammed the knife into the ground, leaving it sticking hilt up out of cracks in the stonework.

The Chelseer girl pulled a can opener out of somewhere in the recesses of her pockets. Both Keolah and Sedder gave her incredulous looks. Cans were a gnomish invention--as most things were, ultimately--but they had never really caught on in Kalor. Hawthorne went at Keolah's cursed armor like a Flylander would a plate of food.

After much furious pulling and tugging and pushing, Hawthorne's can opener broke, quite effectively settling that dispute. Now they were getting desparate, so Hawthorne unsheathed her sword. Keolah nearly laughed at the armor then. Nothing was so strong that it could stand up to the power of the Zarnith, power grown over fifty generations of Chelseers. Now that was a scary thought in itself. Keolah gave an involuntary shudder.

So Hawthorne started whacking the cursed plate mail with her magic sword. The blade glowed brightly, and the armor shimmered black. Just then Delven returned, and thought precisely the wrong thing.

The story-teller tackled Hawthorne, forcing her away from Keolah and pinning her to the ground by the wrists, to keep her from swinging that thing at him. Hawthorne, naturally, stuggled, and Keolah, ever the diplomat, attempted to explain things to him. Eventually, Keolah managed to pry Delven off of the Chelseer long enough to convince him that, yes, Hawthorne may be crazy, but she had absolutely nothing so against Keolah that she would attempt murder. Somewhere between his confusion, his imbecility, Keolah's calm demeanor, and all the long words, he relaxed.

Hawthorne tried again to dislodge the armor from the poor Kedaire, warily watched by Delven for any false moves. Eventually, they saw that the most powerful sword in the world wasn't even scratching the plate armor.

"Well," sighed a resigned Hawthorne finally, "it's really both a blessing and a curse. Sure, you can't get it off, but, think of it this way. Undesired elements can't get in, either."

"Hawthorne, you have a sick mind."

"Oh, we've known that for quite some time," shrugged Lariole. "But so do you."

Keolah chose not to respond, since that old stalemate remained. She had more pressing things to think about. "Did you get any food, Delven?"

The story-teller recovered the animal he had shot. "Is there any way to get a fire going?"

Sedder muttered a word, then suddenly there was a crackling fire in their midst. Delven shrugged and retrieved Hawthorne's boot knife, then started skinning the creature. Keolah pulled another cloak, a green one, from the pile and put it on. It nicely hid her armor, except for a few flashes as a warning to any potential attacker. Maybe there was some good in it after all...

They ate the meal without ever positively identifying what the animal was. Delven certainly didn't know. Then they slept an uneasy night, Keolah especially.

* * *

Come morning, the party set out toward the dawn and left the city limits. They came to a mountainous region called the Hledrast, and camped by a stream that night without incident. Then, however, was when the incident occured.

It seemed as though they were attacked by a whole nation of wild men, but it turned out there were only two. The wild men were slightly annoyed that they were doubly outnumbered, so the one in green decided to negotiate.

"Hello, strangers. Welcome to Hledrast place of Albrynnia. I be Vakis son of Vannarel. This be friend Tor." Vakis gave them a once-over, then a twice-over, then a thrice-over, before apparently deciding they were not monsters. Of course, in some cases he was mistaken.

"I am Lariole Hawthorne Chelseer, daughter of Kiorden and Dennole," announced Hawthorne grandiosely.

"Keolah Kedaire, daughter of Kaymore and Rezaline Star-Eyes."

"I am the great Delven Thrack, story-teller and tale-weaver esquire, at your service."

"Sedder," said Sedder. He wasn't divulging any more information than absolutely necessary.

"How is it that you speak Kalorese?" asked Hawthorne.

Vakis shrugged. "Tribe have dealings with them time ago, so father need I know Kalorese. I know you elf part of ears, eyes. You know Kalorese gooder Albrynnian?

"I speak Hlayan," said Hawthorne. "I understand they're related."

"Hlayans be childs of city Albrynnians out fall of persons," explained the wild man. "Tribes of wild men be not seed."

The companions exchanged looks due to Vakis's odd way of speaking the language, but they understood him well enough.

"Where is your tribe?" wondered Keolah.

Vakis shrugged. "Tribe be Reflective, at Mirror Bay. I no go back there."

"Why not?" asked Hawthorne, typically curious until it became boring. If there was scandal or exile involved, she was interested.

As it turned out, scandal and exile were involved. "Father be bad, bad prince. Kill person. I be no clear of this. It be three years ago. He do bad. He be kill. I be out." Tor was merely sitting on a log and whittling. The others took his hint and sat down too.

"We are traveling through this area in an attempt to return to Kalor," explained Keolah, not caring whether or not they understood. "We are strangers to this land and know not its dangers. Any guidance you may lend us will be greatly appreciated. My friends and I are good fighters, if it comes to that--"

"Which it will," muttered Tor, but no one was paying much attention to him.

"--and our intelligence can work out most intellectual puzzles." At this, Hawthorne gave her a look that seemed to be wondered whose intelligence she was refering to.

Vakis shook his head in frustration. "I talk no Kalorese good. I talk Hlayan gooder."

So Hawthorne repeated the gist of Keolah's speech--except for the part about intelligence--in Hlayan.

"We be glad to help you to north, friends," replied Vakis after the translation. "I like you persons. We seed not others for big time. We be glad for to go with you."

Thus the wild men Vakis and Tor joined the party on their Journey Through Darkness. It had long been fated to be so, though the prophecies were so obscure that none of them knew anything about them.

Vakis knew the land well, for he had lived three years in the Hledrast. Tor was also knowledgeable, though he spoke little. Apparently Vakis had always done all the talking. It reminded Keolah of some relationships. Never mind.

Speaking of relationships, Vakis soon became as attached to Keolah as her armor. After all, he hadn't seen a female in three years, and his passes at Hawthorne resulted in the most withering glares Keolah had ever seen. They practically withered the nearby plantlife.

Fortunately, they gave Vakis a crash course in Kalorese, so he spoke more or less intelligibly. Of course, it would have helped if Hawthorne had not "altered" some definitions. It made for a cruel joke at Vakis's expense.

One day, while they were traveling north to Lake Sunrise, Vakis caught her alone in the forest. He then asked her a rather personal favor.

Keolah shook her head. "I'm really sorry, Vakis, but I can't take this armor off."

The wild man took a step back. "Well, I understand if you not want to, but--"

"No, Vakis, I mean I really can't get this armor off!"

Vakis naturally tried to take off Keolah's armor, but if the Zarnith didn't work, a simple wild man certainly wouldn't.

* * *

"So what do you think?" asked Hawthorne finally.

"About what?"

"About Vakis!"

Keolah raised an eyebrow. "He's okay, I guess."

"Admit it, you like him."

"Okay, I like him."

"You really like him."

"Yes, I really like him."

"You want him."

"And you want Jerel," countered Keolah.

"Jerel Caithnor?" Hawthorne smiled. "Tell you what. I'll let you have Vakis if you let me have Jerel. Deal?"

"Deal."

* * *

"If we go north, we should go by ruins of Sunrise City, on west side of Lake Sunrise," suggested Vakis, scribbling a map into the dirt. "The see be very beautiful there. The sun rise over Lake Sunrise through Sailstream Valley. Never I seed any thing beautifuller. There be small river name Kwalis, be old word mean black, dark. After cross of Black River we need to cross stream name Kinrelth. I think it mean snowflake, snowy, something like that. Then we follow Snowy River up for time. Motherland Hills start somewhere around there. We do much climb. There be plant you no go near; I show it to you. Then we go north to shore of Lake Sunrise. We maybe need circle around to ruin, where we can see through gap in Sunrise Mountains name Sailstream Valley." Vakis went on to describe the Sunrise Mountains, but no one was really paying much attention to him.

They trekked downhill for half a day and soon came to the Kwalis River. It was a rushing mass of water engulfed in fog so that the far bank could not be seen. If this was a small river, what was Vakis's idea of a large one?

"How are we to cross this?" exploded Hawthorne. Then she glared meaningfully at Keolah.

"Sorry, Lariole, I left the White Feather at home," replied Keolah to the unspoken question.

"It no be hard to cross," announced Vakis. Everyone stared at him incredulously. "Oh, you not believe me?" He promptly walked into the churning water. "Follow where I walk."

The others were shaking their heads in ridicule, but Tor waded in, then Delven. Hawthorne decided to be unwise again, so she followed. If Delven could cross it, anybody could.

Sedder, however, was trembling on the bank. "What's wrong?" asked Keolah as she prepared to step into the water.

"This River of Darkness is no place for the Children of Light."

Keolah gave him an evil stare. "Go ahead of me, half-elf."

Sedder shook his head. "I am not on good terms with the river-god."

The Kedaire girl stamped her foot. "Stop talking nonsense and cross this river."

Reluctantly, the black-clad half-elf stepped into the dark waters, following Hawthorne. "I was right. Those who possess no evil, who are completely pure and good--"

"Well, that counts me out, so get moving," ordered the elf.

After Sedder had gone a few feet, Keolah waded into the frigid water. There were smooth stones beneath her feet, and a rock ledge causing the water in this ford to be calmer. Sedder ahead of her kept talking about evil and the Darkness. It had been early evening when they were on the bank; now it was full night. The moons hadn't risen yet, nor would they for three hours tonight. The stars were obscured, and the river was black as its name implied.

"I don't think I like this place," shouted Keolah to be heard over the water.

"Keep going. We're almost out!" returned Sedder.

There was a golden light ahead of her. Hawthorne had drawn the Zarnith and was holding it above her head, out of the reach of the water. It's glow seemed to lightened the heavy load of darkness upon the river, and set its black waters to glistening. Then the light rose out above the water.

"She's on the far bank!" yelled Sedder back to Keolah. "Just go directly toward the light!"

The frigid, churning waters seemed to suck at the elfling's skin like leeches. It was cold enough to be very painful, but not cold enough to numb the pain. The golden light ahead was a beacon, and she reached toward it. Then the light vanished and Keolah was completely swept into darkness. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't see anything. The water coelesced into many hands grabbing at her, trying to take her under. She struggled against them. Someone was calling her name. No! They were trying to lure her into the darkness!

Then the hands succeeded and suddenly Keolah was on the bank. She spat up water, and lay there trembling. Someone placed a blanket around her, but because of her armor it was no help. The hands dragged her away from the water. A fire started suddenly, and they placed her around this. A golden light appeared, and it touched her armor. But instead of the armor becoming colder as it had when Hawthorne tried to cut it off, it merely became warmer. Lariole was not trying to hurt the armor, but to warm it. It only succeeded marginally. Then Hawthorne touched the flat of the blade to Keolah's flesh. This time warmth radiated through her, banishing the darkness with dawn. Keolah fell into a deep, healing sleep.

* * *

As she slept, she dreamed. She stood upon a high tower, looking out over a green valley clad in forest. Below her and above her the Darkness danced with Light, together in harmony. Dark wings and light wings grasped her and took her from the tower into the sky.

A village of wild men surrounded her. A light flared in the south where no light should be. The light coelesced into a face that was somehow familiar, but which Keolah had never seen before.

"Come to me," whispered the luminescent lips. "Come, Keolah. Seek not the dawn but the sunset. Look to the sunset and you will see me." But a dark wind took the vision from her, and left her with only sleep.

"I'm sorry," said a voice, cutting through the waves of slumber. "I not know it be very cold. I cross it in summer."

"But this is summer!" spoke another voice.

"You understand not. This be Albrynnia. Seasons here be reversed. It be deep winter."

"It is summer," said the second voice so stubbornly that it had to be Hawthorne.

Keolah tried to raise her hand toward the familiar voice, but she didn't really succeed.

"Hey, look!" cried a voice. "She really reached up and grabbed you, Hawthorne! Oh, alright, Hawthorne. You needn't glare at me so. But remember that humans are sometimes inherently telepathic, while most elves are not."

"Delven, I think I can safely say that every elf is more telepathic than you." There was a sound like ripping clothing. "And besides, my family is descended from the Children who retained their telepathy. My ancestor is Arid Chel, whose power was strongest of all the Children."

The Kedaire again tried to contact them, and this time let out a very successful groan.

"That does it," commented Hawthorne. "She's all right."

"You could have warn me," muttered Vakis.

Hawthorne laughed. "No warning would be sufficient!"

A gentle hand touched Keolah's. Then a smooth blade was pressed against her throat. Keolah knew better than to panic.

Warmed flooded into her body, and strength to her limbs. Within moments she was standing again.

Vakis reached toward her, then cupped his face in his hands and started sobbing.


	5. Follow the Dawning Blade

The forest parted and a glistening lake stretched before them. The light of the fading sun glinted off it's crystaline surface. Yet in the midst of this beauty, there was a wariness. Shadows moved where no shadows should be. Since they had crossed the Kwalis River, it had seemed that there were eyes behind every tree, watching them for one false move, waiting for the right moment to attack.

"That's the fourth time that's happened this week!" shouted Hawthorne after her sword had caused a cluster of shadows to hightail it out of there.

Hawthorne was accurate in that, at least. It had been exactly one elven or Albrynnian week since the crossing of the river, not counting the day lost while Keolah recovered.

"And if any of you wild men show yourselves again, I might aim this thing!" added the Chelseer.

The shadows cringed and fled.

"Hawthorne, you are so--precipitous," commented Keolah.

They sat at the shore of Lake Sunrise. The city that once graced this land lay in ruins a quarter mile to their left. No one except maybe Hawthorne much felt like going there.

"Get away you wild men!" cried Hawthorne again to something nobody except Tor saw. She suddenly plunged the Zarnith point first into the dirt by the lake. "Let that ward you off!"

It apparently worked, since they were attacked by no wild men during the night. But the Zarnith could not ward off dreams, or nightmares.

Keolah had that dream again, the one calling her to follow the sunset, and turn from the dawn. Keolah thrashed in her armour all night, waking Vakis but not Hawthorne. The dream was imperative this time; she had to follow it.

Vakis woke them before dawn, though he had difficulty with Hawthorne. Keolah eventually convinced her that he wasn't intending anything uncouth and she calmed down, though she eyed Vakis warily.

The eastern light brightened, and then all at once a sliver of golden light broke the horizon. There before them was the reason Lake Sunrise was so named. And also the Zarnith was between them and the sun, so that Yallia was dawning behind the blade, the lake, the mountains, the islands, and all the world in the distance.

"I stand in awe, Dawning Blade," murmured Keolah to Hawthorne.

"You're sitting, Keolah, not standing," replied Hawthorne.

Keolah slapped her, and Hawthorne decided that discretion was the better part of valor and shut up.

They left that day before noon. Keolah told them of the dream, and Vakis and Hawthorne supported her in her proposal. They believed that the dream indeed meant something.

Before they left the lake, however, there was one more thing that needed their attention. Two gnomes arrived from the Sunrise City. Needless to say, they were rather startled to see a pair of gnomes so far from their homeland.

"Sarom Zenk and Calto," introduced one. "I'm glad that we could find some civilized people who actually speak Kalorese, for it is rather disconcerting to be amongst a group of wild men who you cannot understand no matter how much you try, even if they do speak Islandic fluently as does Calto here, though not as well as they do I am sure--"

"I am Hawthorne, and these are Keolah, Vakis, Tor, Sedder, and Delven." She left nothing in question. "I am the leader of this party. We are traveling westward, after which we will discover a way to return to Kalor. We would welcome your company, as well as an explanation on how you came to be here."

Perhaps she later wished she had asked to hear how they arrived on Albrynnia, for they heard more than they cared to about it on the way to the Tatret.

First they went into a detailed discussion of the gnomish creation myth, which states quite plainly that the first mortal being ever to walk Lezaria was a gnome woman. According to the myth, she named all things and requested company in the forms of other gnomes, elves, humans, et cetera. Finally Hawthorne threatened to shove the Zarnith down his throat if Sarom Zenk didn't get to the point.

They were gnomish researchers looking for the origins of the Wizard's Guild in Daggervale. Sarom Zenk had discovered a cave near the North Gal Pass, which they entered. They described the cave a bit too thoroughly, but no one was really listening to that. Then they said they were consumed by mist and appeared in the Sunrise Mountans. They wandered down to Lake Sunrise. It really wasn't all that interesting of a story, but it was so drug out over the five days they spent marching to the River Tatret that everyone had chronic headaches.

Finally the blessed river spread before them, and they realized why Vakis had called the Kwalis small. Compared to this, the mighty Anduana was a babbling brook!

From where they stood, the Tatret at its mouth seemed to be several miles wide. Luckily it was mostly a shallow delta, filled with islands they could hop across. Sedder was stark terrified of the Tatret, for it was nearly as large as the Hluseena at Whitewater Inlet. But they convinced him that they needed him, and he reluctantly agreed to cross.

It took them the better part of the day to get across the swamps at the delta, having Vakis go ahead to find solid ground. At last they reached the firm soil at the far edge.

Even the gnomes were too worn out to continue their narrative, which was fortunate.

The party--now led by Hawthorne and Vakis, followed by Keolah and Sarom Zenk, then Sedder, Delven, Calto, and Tor trailing--set off west, with a slight northern angle. Vakis said that this was directly toward the Reflective Tribe's grounds, but that he was willing to risk himself if Keolah deemed it necessary.

* * *

Therefore they entered the village of wild men who had raised Vakis. Hawthorne explained their situation to the chief, whose name translated as Bay Dolphin. "We have no boats," explained the chief, "nor do we know how to make them. We are hunters," he said, "who make our livelihood by gathering fruit and shooting shalkam and thibees with bows and arrows. What fish we eat we trade for with other tribes or Hlayans."

Then the soothsayer spoke suddenly: "He comes! He comes!" Yet no one could get him to tell exactly who was coming. He merely kept shouting, "He comes! He comes!"

But it was soon apparent. A light flared in the south, steadily brighter. Whatever the soothsayer said, someone was definitely coming. He seemed to glow silver as stars, yet brilliant as noon. Then he rounded a hill, and Sedder suddenly cried out, "Silver? SILVER!!"

The bright figure broke into a run and met them at the edge of the village. "Silver, how did you get here?" asked Sedder in a rush, his previous silence broken. "What are you doing here? Where is Narcella?"

The others, obviously, had no idea what he was talking about. Silver turned sad for a brief moment, and his sorrow was almost tangible, then the feeling passed. "I have no answer, Tennar Triumphant."

"Silver?" ventured Keolah. "You are Silver?"

"Silver, son of Dennor and Lincel, rider of Narcella," he paused, his eyes flickering with anger, though it was not directed at any present. "Husband of Natalie, father of Arvell and Tara, friend of Sedder, enemy of the Dark Knight." He smiled wryly. "Though in that I think most here are common."

His piercing hazel eyes rested upon those silver ones of Keolah. For a long moment, their eyes remained locked together, and understanding strong as Khan passed between them. Then Silver broke his gaze and turned to Hawthorne, then Delven, Vakis, Tor, Sarom Zenk, Calto, then finally to Sedder. The tribesmen didn't concern him. But Sedder's bright black eyes did. Never before had Sedder's eyes been black. Yet they shone even as Silver's did. He was powerful, yet evil. Silver, unable to bear the link, turned away.

"This party is complete," declared Silver. "We nine are together now, yet this cannot last. We must take as much advantage of this as we can. Is there any way my powers may be of service to you right away?"

Vakis pushed Keolah forward and opened her cloak. The cold, shining armour shone through. "This armour is stuck on me."

Silver relaxed visibly, then closed his eyes, focusing. Then when he opened them, he glared at the armour, which glowed amber and fell into dust. Keolah's eyes lit up and she beamed a great smiled. Then she opened her arms and ran toward Silver--and past him to Vakis.

They left the tribe before sunset and traveled northeast, toward the dawn, into the sun. But they were still in the midst of Darkness, and Darkness was in their hearts.

As they traveled through the Reflective Mountains, they saw themselves reflected in the tranquil slopes. Day in and day out they climbed up and down the ridgelines and eventually emerged at the edge of Sheenvale.

"Here be the first stop to Jaston," Vakis told them, for they had agreed that Jaston was the best place to go. "Many tales I heard of this valley. See that tall tower there? They say there be a big library of magic books. But we wild men do no magic, so we go here not."

"We'll stay the night in the city," suggested Hawthorne. Once Hawthorne got an idea in her head, it was impossible to tell her differently. In fact, trying to change her mind usually made her cling to an idea even more tenaciously.

Everyone in the party already knew her well enough not to explain the stupidness of this idea to her. Even Vakis knew better. Most definitely he knew better. During their trip through the Reflective Mountains, he had inadvertently caused Lariole to be mildly annoyed, and got his hair trimmed. Fortunately he had ducked.

So they set up camp in a courtyard on the outskirts of town. "Actually this isn't a bad place," commented Delven. He was about to go on, but a withering glare from Hawthorne illuminated by firelight convinced him that such an action would be indubitably unwise.

"This place reminds me of that valley near Torn Elkandu," Keolah said. "That place called the Dragon's Nest, though it certainly wasn't made by any Baynorthtown dragons."

"Hey, I was ignorant then!" Delven defended himself.

"You still are," added Hawthorne.

Keolah continued, "This city has a sense of power about it. I feel it. Do you, Hawthorne?"

Lariole raised her head and sniffed the air, as if magic was something that could be smelled. "I do, Keolah," she replied in a small, subdued voice, very different from her usual one. "There is great power here. I heard that the Albrynnian magic books were hidden somewhere on Albrynnia. The Tinean magic books..." she trailed off. "Nobody knows what happened to the Tinean books."

"What do you know of the story?" asked Vakis, ever curious.

"That when Denahbi prevented the Wizards Guild from taking over the world, the wizards hid the Tinean books, the largest and most powerful collection, in an unknown location. They could be on Halladan for all I know."

"I've heard something more about it," added Silver. "Being a Wind-Rider. That the League of Wizards was not trying to take over the world. That he who calls himself Denahbi entered that League under the name Arkavellet. Other things beside. I don't remember." His speech was broken. There was something on the tip of his tongue that he could also remember--a name, a place perhaps--that someone didn't want him to say. That which he could not remember was vitally important to the survival of the expedition. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Silver knew an earthshaking truth, whose revelation would tip the scales of balance once again toward the good. But just as he was about to remember it, Sarom Zenk spoke.

"I know something of this mystery myself. I have had much contact with the wizards of Daggervale in my years. They say that Denahbi is not to be trusted, but he was never really evil, just misguided. I heard--"

"SARDILL!" shouted Silver, leaping to his feet.

The others looked at him puzzled, because no one in their right mind would shout the true name of the Dark Knight without a good reason. Vakis started to stand. Keolah sat bolt upright. Hawthorne glared at him. Delven crossed his eyes. Tor stared off into space. Calto didn't even flinch. Sarom Zenk looked mildly annoyed at being interrupted, but being a gnome he was used to it.

Nobody noticed the absense of Sedder except Hawthorne, and she didn't bother mentioning it.

"Don't you get it?" Silver went on. "Sardill, the Dark Knight, Falad, Korton, Arkavellet, Denahbi, Seeroh. They are the same person!"

"What!" shouted Keolah, jumping up. Hawthorne continued to glare. Delven scratched his head. Vakis looked confused. Tor looked disinterested.

"That can't be!" cried Sarom Zenk. Calto looked down the road. Just then Keolah noticed that Sedder was missing.

"Where's Sedder?" she wondered.

Now the Dark Knight was forgotton. They all stood and started calling Sedder's names. The Darkness deepened around them, and seemed to laugh at their folly.

"The library," whispered Keolah.

Silence. They met each other's gazes, one by one, and knew it had to be true for there was no other answer.

Keolah was in a state of anger, shock, panic, and terror. She set off at once running headlong into the Darkness that had collected about them. Delven didn't know quite what was going on, but followed Keolah. Hawthorne drew her sword and went also. Vakis was terrified, but his love for Keolah was greater than his fear of Darkness. Tor followed more slowly, but he too was affected by the emotions present. Sarom Zenk and Calto were excited, though somewhat afraid, so they ran as well. But Silver ran fastest of all. He was not afraid of Sedder, but afraid for Sedder. He had little to fear from anyone.

Suddenly the darkness parted and the tower loomed eerily before them. On the far side of the tower were four buildings--four: the number sacred to the Albrynnians. On the near side there were three, the number sacred to the elves. Thus there were seven buildings, a number sacred to them both.

Keolah rushed to the door to the tower, but was shocked by a forcefield. Hawthorne swung her sword at it, narrowly missing Keolah, but it was no use. The magic held. They tried to enter for several moments before Delven said, "Hey, guys, the window's open."

Needless to say, they felt rather stupid as they climbed in the window.

The first level of the great tower was empty except for a golden cylinder like the one in Hledola. Hawthorne immediately strode directly into it and vanished. Her voice called to them to come up and see this, and they followed, some of them more reluctantly than others.

The cylinder had apparently been set to the very top of the library tower.

There, to one side of the room next to an open book, lay Sedder.

Dead.


	6. Casting the Spell

Keolah was trembling, quaking in fear. Darkness filled her vision, and with it came terror. Her heart was frozen beyond the light of Zarnith. In the blinding bright darkness she heard a voice screaming, and slowly realized that it was her own.

Something very cold had seeped into her heart, she realized. She finally understood that she had slowly become corrupted by the Darkness. Cast it away! she told herself. Cast it away and get on with your life.

An endless sea of conflicting forces surrounded her, each vying for possession of her soul. She tried to clear her mind, to clear her heart, but she could not. I cannot live like this! she silently cried. In the chaos, someone heard her, and pulled her back from her doom.

It was Silver's voice, she recognized. No, it wasn't. Was it Tor? Tor! Yes, it was Tor who was speaking to her. She couldn't make out the words.

He was calling her name, but it was a name she recognized only vaguely, and she no longer responded to it. Someone was calling to her as if across the vast expanse of all the worlds that have ever existed or even all those that could exist. Someone was trying to make order of chaos.

Sedder stirred and stood, half-living, half-dead.

"What is going on here?" murmured Keolah. "Sedder?"

"That's not my name," he told her, and meant it completely.

"But you were dead..."

"No. I am very much alive!" he cried.

Keolah reached out with her hand and found Hawthorne's, and her friend's stubbornness to help her brought her back from the brink. "We have found the long-lost Tinean books," Sedder told her. "I tried to cast a spell, a relatively minor one, and it nearly killed me. I was unable to even channel the energy into the spell, it was so powerful."

The Seeker had sought, yet the Shadow had found, that which was hidden by the Darkness and protected by the Lights.

Silver picked up the book and identified the spell. "This is a time-travelling book."

"He might not have been able to cast the spell alone," Keolah pointed out. "But we may be able to cast it if we work together, all of us, as one."

"Do we dare do this?" Vakis asked.

"I dare," Hawthorne shrugged.

"You would," Keolah rolled her eyes. "Listen, don't any of you wonder what happened here? Why the Albrynnians left their homes in such a hurry, without even taking their possessions? Why creatures like the centaurs Silver mentioned have lived her for centuries unknown about? Where we all came from?"

The companions looked at one another. "Let's do it," Sedder said. "The truth is out there. We have only to find it."

They decided by democratic vote to try to cast this spell, for the Tinean spells had not been used for millennia, as proof that they could. Silver memorized the spell, since his memory was good, and they linked hands, all nine of them.

Through Silver their thoughts were linked, and they saw the words in their minds as clearly as he did, and understood them with a comprehension borne of a league greater than the sum of its parts. In that great link the Wizards' Guild was reborn. The Elkandu were born in that moment.

Silver spoke the first line of the spell, then spoke the second as Sedder spoke the first. This spell had nine lines, and was to be repeated nine times. Each spoke the spell from beginning to end, yet all lines were being spoken at the same time. Each felt a great thrill of power, for now good and evil were working together as they never had before, which was truly the only way the Tinean spells could be used. Then as Silver chanted the final line of the spell for the final time, a bright light flashed around them, and they fell silent. Darkness and Light, they found themselves in the library tower.

Ten thousand years ago.

The library was new then, the walls which had been chipped and crumbling were now fresh and clean. The books were all in the exact same places, except the one they had used, and two books that had been missing before. A window was open that had later been bricked up. Through it, they saw the village of Sheenvale going about its daily business.

The nine Elkandu climbed down the tower stairs and emerged on the edge of the village. The seven buildings hadn't yet been built.

A dark-skinned woman approached them, apparently intending on climbing the tower herself. She spoke to them in an unfamiliar language.

"She says her name is Harmony," Vakis breathed. "Harmony Kimchild." Vakis introduced the companions in a semblance of the same language.

Harmony then spoke in perfect, unaccented Kalorese. "The gate stands open, the tower is filled, and the magic books which have been there forever will be there forever. You stand here before me, unborn yet always alive. I was the one who changed your grandsires. I created the race of the elves, and all other races from humans. Yet I have not done that yet, but you are here. Why have you come here, my unborn children?"

Keolah knew it had to have been a speech spell Harmony had cast, over herself or over the companions, she wasn't sure which. "I am the Seeker and I seek the truth. What happened to the land of Albrynnia, Harmony Kimchild? Why did the people leave?"

"I know not the future history, friends. But perhaps my cousin Swamp might help you. He is the Enchanter, and more powerful than I."

"Could you introduce us to him?" asked Sedder. "He may be able to help us indeed."

"I don't like him," Hawthorne mumbled. "I haven't even met him yet and I already don't like him."

"Why not, Lariole?" Keolah scolded her.

"Something about anybody named 'Swamp' makes me feel weird."

Keolah laughed. "You're always weird, Hawthorne."

"No, not that kind of weird. I mean like, fateful."

Harmony and the companions climbed the library tower. She located the book she was looking for--one of the books that was never returned to the library thereafter--and put it in her pack. "I'll take you to Swamp."

The Elkandu followed Harmony northward around the Mountains of Sorrow to Mount Shadowflame near Jaston. It was a long journey, but with their newfound power they were able to teleport the harder stretches.

"The centaurs are my creation as well," Harmony explained on the way. "My magical power is Changing, but it isn't as strong as it could have been. I can only transform something halfway. I can turn a man into a centaur or a horse into a centaur, but not a man into a horse."

"But then where did the elves come from?" wondered Keolah. "We aren't part animal."

"Yes, you are, actually," Harmony contradicted her. "You have only to see each other's eyes to know that. I transformed--or rather, will transform--a group of humans halfway to cats. They were small in number, and intermarried with straight humans for the sake of genetic diversity. Never mind, you don't know about genetics. It would take many generations for a stable mixture to emerge in you, and still crossbreeding is going on I see." She looked at Sedder's smaller ears. "The elves had time to gain the best traits of both races: the sharp senses of the feline kind, the longer lifespan of the human kind, the intelligence inherent to both with insights neither can achieve."

Hawthorne, however, was not willing to merely take Harmony's word on that. "Okay, hotshot. There's a fisherman. Turn him into an elf. I dare you to."

Harmony approached the fisherman and spoke softly to him in a peculiar dialect that the spell she had cast did not cover. He nodded in consent and stood. Harmony focused upon his form, and his ears grew large and pointed, his eyes turned to cat-eyes, he became shorter and more slender, and his feet grew longer.

"But elves don't have big feet," Keolah protested.

"The first ones did. They walked on their toes, like cats," Harmony told her. "This trait eventually fell by the wayside as modern elves came into being."

They left the fisher-elf and reached Shadowflame not long afterward. Swamp came out to meet them.

The Elkandu knew immediately that he had to be Swamp. He couldn't have been anyone else. The Enchanter was wearing black robes like Sedder was, but he was an albino. His eyes were pale blue, his hair so blond it was almost white, and his skin chalky white in stark contrast to the usual Albrynnian black skin.

"Greetings, Swamp," Sedder said.

"I am the Enchanter," he snarled. "I could destroy you in an instant if I so chose. But I choose not to. Why is it that you seek me out?" He paused a moment. "I know where and when you are from."

"Why did the Albrynnians leave this continent in the future?" asked Silver.

"Let us go there and find out," Swamp growled. "Take me from this primitive past-world! I want the future!"

"I do not even know how to reach our own time, never mind the time when they abandoned the continent," Silver said ruefully.

"I can help you there," Swamp spoke, more calmly now. "I see in you nine the link between good and evil. Link with me as well, and my Enchantments shall fall upon you."

"Perhaps the answer lies in the Tinean book," Keolah suggested. "Here, let me see it."

Silver handed her the magic book. The Seeker flipped through the pages until she found something interesting. "It's talking about a world within a world, and something called a Nexus. This would allow Elkandu to pass from their time to another, and from that time back to the Nexus. It would also allow interdimensional travel, to other worlds."

"Mark that page," Sedder told her. "It may be important."

Keolah did so. "Here's the independant time-travelling spell. We would have to slip forward on this time-thread to whatever lies in the future. It may be very different from the Lezaria we're used to, but it says that the world within a world always has the same timeline, being inside and yet outside the dynamics of its hostworld."

Silver nodded. "Good, this one is a ten-line spell for ten people." He memorized the slightly different spell, and they joined in the link again. This time the time-travelling went more smoothly because of their experience.

Upon arriving in the new timeline, they saw that indeed it was different. "What is this?" breathed Sarom Zenk.

"Albrynnia never fell," gasped Hawthorne. "Albrynnia never fell!"


	7. War and Peace

There was a great city near the place where Jaston had once been, a sprawling sea-port choked with taverns and stores and inns, but no elves. Not a single centaur, dwarf, elf, dragon, or any other creatures besides humans milled about this city. Even in the most extreme of cities, there should be some other races, but this town didn't even have any gnomes. Harmony had stated clearly that the gnomes were not of her devising.

"What happened here?" cried Keolah, mildly irritated.

"This is likely a timeline in which Harmony created no transformed creatures," Swamp suggested.

"Let's see if we can find this world within a world," Hawthorne barked, also mildy irritated.

They entered the city of Jaston--still called by the same name though it was nothing like the previous village. The people looked strangely on the elves' eyes and large ears, but since they had never known the reality of elves they merely assumed them to be of an obscure tribe. Eager to be gone from Albrynnia, the ten Elkandu boarded a ship for Kalor, and the land called Laia.

There was war in Kalor. The dark-skinned people of Albrynnian descent were invading the lands of the olive-skinned people of Doralisian descent and the light-skinned people of Unarian descent. In the eyes of the strangers to this world, it was a senseless conflict.

"Why are my people fighting?" murmured Vakis with a catch in his voice.

"Why are my people dying?" added Sedder, who was half-Flylish. The Flylanders were originally from Unar. "And where is my brother in all this?"

"Knowing him," Keolah said with a sad smile, "he's likely in the thick of it all."

They went northward from the lush land of Laia, which as Hlaya had been a desert. However, the companions quickly learned that this was largely a magic-dead world, where not even the simplest spells were widely used. Elkandu magic was virtually unheard of here.

"We should head toward Scalyr," Keolah suggested. "I know it won't be called by that name, but there may still be a similar city there."

"Scalyr was founded by humans freed by Elen the Excellent from the clutches of Jeckhan the Necromancer, who worked for the Dark Knight," Silver explained. "But it is a good place for a city, so there may have been one built there at some point, probably by Doralisians."

Indeed, when they reached the location they knew as Scalyr, there was a great walled city there. It was under siege by Laian troops.

"Great," snorted Hawthorne. "How are we supposed to get in now?"

"We're wizards, aren't we?" Keolah raised an eyebrow. "We just cast a spell. Poof! We're inside. Poof! We're in Thalarey. Poof! We're on Halladan."

"I don't want to go to Halladan," Hawthorne sighed. "I just want to get inside, to see what the Khanrey is going on in there."

"No problem," Keolah smiled. She gathered together her mana of the Power of Motion, and willed the ten of then well inside the city. The mist-tendrils grasped them, and they were in.

"Nice," commented Vakis, wide-eyed.

A group of pale-skinned people ran up to them. One of them looked familiar.

"Terrin!" shouted Sedder. "My brother! What are you doing here?"

The man stopped. He was older than he should have been. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"Terrin Deller, I'm your half-brother, Sedder! Don't you recognize me?"

"No," sighed Terrin. "I'm General Deller of the Doralisian Resistance. Are you for us or against us?"

"You are my brother, Terrin, whether you know it or not. I'm for you all the way. I can't speak for my companions, however."

"I'm with you, friend Terrin," Keolah told him.

"And I," said Hawthorne.

The others all agreed. Even though Vakis, Swamp, and Tor were Albrynnian, they did not agree with their people fighting. Besides that, Vakis loved Keolah and would follow her anywhere, and the other two didn't want to be kicked out.

"Brother, why are you a general? You should have been a bard."

"I do write poetry and songs, but I can't devote all my attention to it as I wish I could. The Laians deny me my joy, so I must fight them, for the freedom of my people."

"We have come here on a quest," Keolah mused, "into the heart of the conflict. Yet we shall put our quest aside for now, to help a friend who never knew us as a friend."

"Terrin, I may be called Sedder, but my birthname is Tennar Deller."

"My father told me that if I had had another brother, he would have been named Tennar," the General sighed. "Sadly, my mother was killed when Laian troops raided our village. It was so small it wasn't worth raiding."

"How can we help you, Terrin?" Silver asked. "We are great wizards who can do things you would consider impossible. What needs to be done here so that you may win your fight for freedom?"

"The walls are strong enough to keep the Laians out for a good long time," Terrin assessed. "But we are starting to run short on supplies. We first besieged this city, gained it, then were besieged ourselves."

"What about ending the siege?" wondered Keolah.

"I don't like killing," Terrin admitted. "If there were a non-violent way to end this war, I'd take it."

"There is," Hawthorne told him. "My sword can end the conflict rather rapidly, without even being used physically. These people have no natural mental defences against magic, as our people do. I'm going to stand on the walls above the gates and raise my sword to the heavens, and none will be able to resist me."

"Hawthorne, you flatter yourself," Keolah rolled her eyes. "They'd likely just throw old shoes and rotten vegetables at you."

Hawthorne flashed Keolah a withering glare. "At least I could do something precipitous."

"I think," Sarom Zenk announced, "that we should endeavor to conduct a peace treaty with the Laians so that they don't need to fight you anymore without losing their pride which they are so attached to because they aren't very nice but I'm sure there are some nice people there who will listen to us and--"

"Shut up, gnome," Hawthorne snapped.

Sarom Zenk clapped his mouth shut, not wishing to face Lariole's wrath. Satisfied, she turned again to the problem at hand.

"Maybe we could capture one of their leaders," Sedder suggested.

"We could teleport them all to Halladan," Keolah mused.

"Cast a spell over them so that they won't fight anymore," Calto murmured.

Everyone turned to the quiet little gnome. "I think you're on to something there," Vakis commented.

"But I don't know of any spell that would accomplish that," Keolah protested.

"Perhaps a spell isn't needed," Calto went on, louder now. "Perhaps all we need to do is tell them that killing is wrong. Explain that no matter what colour their skin is, they are still people."

"I'll do it," Vakis volunteered. "They'd listen to someone of their own kind."

Keolah insisted on going with him. The two teleported outside the city, to the edge of the Laian camp. The sentries stopped them, but they took one look at Vakis and admitted them.

The Laian general was standing on a platform behind a podium telling her troops exactly what the next phase of the siege would be. Vakis did not say a word; rather, he walked right up to the platform and gently pushed the general off it.

"What is the meaning of this?" cried the general, outraged.

Vakis spoke calmly, quietly, yet loud enough for the silent troops to hear, "They are slowly dying, because of you. You have become heartless murderers, killing adults and children alike. You are killing entire races simply because they do not look like you or talk like you or think like you. You are killing those who you should be helping, working together to build a greater society. You are slaying your brothers and sisters."

Keolah stood aside, watching her beloved. It was his turn for glory now. The general shouted, "We would be willing to end this war if they would only surrender!"

"They would sooner die than become your slaves," Vakis continued. "They refuse to make the first move toward peace. Thus it is up to you, who consider yourselves the higher race, to do so. Reach an armistice with these people who you now see as your enemies, and learn to see them as your friends."

The general whispered, "Oh, Veseveret, show me a sign that this messenger is true!"

Keolah heard, because of her elven ears, though not even Vakis heard. She waited half a moment, to see if Veseveret actually would respond, then decided to take matters into her own hands. The Seeker caused Vakis's eyes to glow silver-blue, without making him aware that she was even doing anything.

The general promptly closed her eyes and fell to her knees. "The attack is off. Break the siege. Veseveret has so commanded us."

Keolah decided to make a dramatic exit, so she teleported herself and Vakis back into the city. "I think that went off well," Keolah smiled. "I have a feeling your problems are over, friend Terrin."

"How can I ever thank you?" breathed Terrin, tears streaming down his face as he heard the gates swing open.

"Do you have any idea where this world within a world might be?" asked Silver.

"I have never heard of such a thing," Terrin admitted, "but it might be down at Skull Rock. Strange things go on around there."

"Skull Rock!" cried Hawthorne. "Is that in the forest past the hills south of here?"

"Yes, it is."

"Torn Elkandu," Keolah deduced. "It could only be Torn Elkandu. Why didn't I think of that before?"

"To Torn Elkandu, then," Silver grinned. "Farewell, Terrin. And good luck with the new peace."

"Farewell, friends, Silver, Sedder, Keolah, Hawthorne, Vakis, Tor, Sarom Zenk, Calto, Delven, and Swamp. Good luck on your own quest. I hope you find that which you seek."


	8. A World Within a World

"Nice place," muttered Vakis.

"Oh, just shut up and come on, wild man," Hawthorne snapped.

The ten companions filed into the nearly-hidden skull cavern, weaving their way to the deepest part of the caves.

"So where is this world within a world?" snarled Swamp.

Delven leaned back against the wall and started playing his heledhar. "Oh, the rowing clown of Halladan--"

Hawthorne grabbed the lute from his hands and hit him over the head so hard that the metal instrument was dented. Rubbing his head, the story-teller slipped to the floor. A secret panel hidden in the stone slid open beside him.

"Argh!" cried Hawthorne. "Delven found the secret passage. I think I'll go outside and retch."

"Oh, get in here, Lariole," Keolah sighed, pulling the other elfgirl into the passage. The rest of the Elkandu followed more slowly, yet most of them were eager to see what their quest had led them to.

At the end of the passage, a shimmering door opened into sunlight into a forested place that looked nothing like the unkind wilderness outside. Hawthorne decided to become unwise again and walked right through the door into the world within a world. Seeing as she was unharmed, Keolah and the others followed. A great mountain whose peak was lost above the stars loomed to their right, and a shallow valley lay to their left. Keolah got out the Tinean book and opened to her marked page on the Nexus.

"Let's head down to that valley," suggested Silver. "Then we can try to get that Nexus up."

Keolah nodded and followed him down the gentle slope. Hawthorne shrugged and ran on ahead. Delven stumbled and rolled end over end into the vale, striking Lariole's feet and making her fall as well. Keolah laughed hysterically and cried, "That's what you get, Hawthorne!"

The others safely reached the heart of the valley. Silver took the Tinean book and memorized the great spell to create the Nexus, which was ninety lines long. It was to be repeated nine times, with no mistakes. If any one of them mispronounced a word or hesitated, the power would doubtless go awry and destroy them all. But they were determined to see this through, so they linked hands and minds and began the spell.

The eerie chanting echoed over the anticipating landscape, pulsing and fading and pulsing as the alien syllables crossed the lips of the companions. Each focused upon this spell and this spell only, allowing the words they did not know to flow from their mouths in that ever-shifting complex pattern that made up the spell and the fabric of the Nexus itself. Time seemed to halt for them, no wind blew, no creature stirred. Only those words upon words breaking the emptiness of this world within a world called Torn Elkandu, the Home of the Wizards.

Then the spell came to a close, the words still pulsing in the unmoving air. And the Elkandu lifted their arms, and the hills rose around them. In the ensuing silence, a light glowed, and the light was a window to all other worlds. Thus the Nexus was born.

* * *

This is not the end!

It is only the beginning of the Tales of the Elkandu  
and their adventures as they explore other worlds.


End file.
